


Sleepless in San Angel

by blackgoliath



Category: Book of Life (2014)
Genre: Multi, Threesome - F/M/M, crawl into ot3 hell with me i beg u, especially the title, im sorry for everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-23
Updated: 2014-10-23
Packaged: 2018-02-22 06:11:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2497478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackgoliath/pseuds/blackgoliath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>remember that "au where the fire alarm goes off in the middle of the night and you end up with the cute guy from the flat next door standing next to you in his underwear" tumblr post? yeah. that one</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleepless in San Angel

**Author's Note:**

> characters (c) to the book of life, obviously

When the fire alarm rings, Manolo is lost in a dream. A dream where the beautiful brown-skinned girl in the apartment on his right and the loud, muscular man in the apartment on his left are here, with him, in his room, their bodies pressed against his in the afterglow of an evening spent together in bliss. He notes, dimly, in the midst of the dream, that he's only talked to them once or twice each, a passing “good day” or a nod of acknowledgment in the hall when they pass, but it doesn't matter. He knows exactly how many times he's traced the curve of the girl's hips in his mind, how many times he's let his gaze linger far too long on the taut lines of the boy's rear, in those random moments where they'd occupied the same space as he when he was either coming or going. He's had this dream before, and he's learned to ignore it; but this time he's interrupted. The piercing throb of the alarm slices through his unconscious fantasies and thrusts him back into the waking world.

He's been through fire drills before; his body automatically rises from the bed, his feet slipping into the slippers beside his nightstand while his brain attempts feebly to catch up. Unlike his school days, though, he has no idea if this is a drill or reality, and instinctively that doubt puts an edge to his movements. It makes him rip his coat from the peg he'd hung it on the night before, pausing only to wrap the thin jacket around his shoulders before he hurries out of the apartment and down the staircase that lay just down the hall from his door. He bumps into strangers on his way down, none of them giving off the presence he's come to expect of his neighbors; with the lingering emotions of the dream fresh in his mind, it's jarring each time he touches someone who isn't those he's been expecting. He manages to swallow the groan of frustration with each interaction, until he reaches the final exit door at the ground level of the building and escapes into the cold, crisp night air. Here he can give a frustrated sigh, one the tenants around him won't pay attention to or care about, as he climbs the softly sloping hill in the courtyard of his apartment complex to where all of those who lived in the five buildings surrounding this empty space had been told to go in the case of a fire.

He stands on that small hill, surrounded by his neighbors who'd been driven out, just like him, in the middle of the night into this chill. He's glad he grabbed a coat, he thinks as he watches several of those around him shudder. He's taking a grim satisfaction from their suffering when a voice next to him says:

“God, why do they have to do this  _now,_ why couldn't they wait at least until the afternoon when I wouldn't be freezing my fucking ass off?”

Manolo glances to the side to see that his female neighbor, a girl named Maria, is standing right beside him. She's wearing nothing more than a tight pair of short shorts and an overlarge t-shirt. His mother raised him well and so he quickly diverts his gaze from how her t-shirt can't quite hide just how cold she really is.

On an impulse he says, “Here, take this,” and drapes his jacket around her shoulders. At first when she looks at him her features are creased in irritation; he instantly regrets what he's done, knowing that he probably overstepped a boundary by not asking for her consent. He utters a “Sorry, that was wrong of me,” and reaches to take the jacket back. However when his hands touch the jacket she pulls it tighter around her, her expression relaxing into a mysterious smile. It could be grateful, or mocking, he's not sure, but the warmth he feels when her dark brown eyes meet his is almost enough to counteract the chill that is now working its way into his bones. He suppresses a shiver.

“Thanks,” she says, and the word is like an arrow that pierces his heart.

“You're welcome.”

He's thinking of what else he should say, what clever words he could weave to endear her to him even more, but his tongue feels heavy and thick in his mouth. He's usually so good with poetry and words and stringing them both into song that his failure now, despite the conditions, begins to weigh heavily on the glee blossoming in his chest. He's still searching for the next best thing to say when he feels something heavy drape itself around his shoulder, drawing him back against a hard, muscled chest. He can feel the newcomer's warmth like a furnace through his thin shirt, warming him until the shivers he's been experiencing faded to nothing.

“Did you really think that tiny coat would be enough for her?” the stranger says. The statement slices through the tentative hope pooling in Manolo's chest. It easily turns into anger.

“Yes, I did,” he replies icily. For a beat there is silence, and Manolo fears a confrontation. His fists tighten unconsciously until the newcomer gives a loud, obnoxious laugh.

“C'mon, bro, I was only kidding!” The stranger rubs his knuckles against Manolo's shoulders in a mock punch. Manolo glances first at his neighbor, who is still smiling, then at the man standing behind him, and manages somehow to conceal the shock that jolts through his system. This 'newcomer' is his other neighbor, the other person who has appeared in his fantasies. Having exchanged greetings only once, Manolo did not recognize his voice. Now he feels he will never forget it.

Manolo tries his best at impersonating an easy laugh. “Right, sorry.”

“Don't worry about it.” His neighbor's arm tightens around his shoulders. The heat from that broad chest is now almost intense enough to make him sweat. “I just wanted you to know that you guys don't need any jackets when you've got  _Joaquin_  to keep you warm!”

“Is that so?” Maria says, the humor in her tone tickling Manolo's ears. “And here I thought you were only good for lifting heavy furniture.”

“That's not all I can do,” Joaquin says defensively. Manolo wonders what kind of history these two have between them and experiences a twinge of jealousy before both of them turn to him.

“Tell her, Manny,” Joaquin says, and Manolo feels a jolt as he realizes this supposed stranger knows his name, has possibly noticed him in the same way he has noticed Joaquin.

“Well...” Manolo says hesitantly, a sheepish smile playing across his features. “All I can say...is that you are  _much_  warmer than a jacket.”

They're staring at him, and inwardly he curses himself for such a terrible attempt at a joke. The fact that sleep is still clinging to the edges of his consciousness and that it's also about 2 o'clock in the morning don't factor into the embarrassment and self-pity he's feeling. His mood plummets drastically until Joaquin lets out another loud laugh.

“See, Maria?” he says, still laughing. “I can move furniture  _and_  be a furnace.”

Maria rolls her eyes, but the corners of her mouth are twitching in a way that make it obvious she's fighting a smile. “Goofball.” She turns then to Manolo. “Don't let him fool you; this is the longest he's gone without talking about how great and talented he is,” she says, and Manolo feels the tension slip away like it had never been there at all. 

He's dimly aware of movement around him when Maria says, “Looks like they're letting us back in.” He makes to disentangle himself and walk ahead, since the moment is obviously over – they'll want to get back to their own apartments, their own beds – but Joaquin's arm remains tight around his shoulders. He guides them down the slope and back to the steps leading into their apartment building, releasing them only when they reach the door because he's barely able to fit  _himself_ , Manolo realizes, let alone while clutching the two of them. That's also when he realizes that Joaquin is shirtless and has been so the entire time and that those hard planes of muscle were just as impressive to his sight as they were to the touch. Manolo swallows.

“No but really,” Joaquin's saying. Manolo forces himself to focus. “I  _am_  pretty awesome. I mean, I'm sure you've heard of me. I'm, like, famous around here.”

Maria snorts as they step into the elevator. They've chosen the smaller of the two to avoid the crowd, though being alone with these two in this tiny space has nerves erupting in Manolo's belly. He hopes the way he's gently trembling and the way his palms have started sweating isn't obvious.

“What did I tell you?” Maria says to Manolo, crossing her arms. “He's going to go on forever.” And it was true – Joaquin is still talking, despite the fact that neither of them are listening. Manolo stifles a giggle.

The elevator dings when it reaches their floor and all three of them step out. Their apartments are down the hall so they turn left together. Manolo, out of guilt, tries to tune back into whatever Joaquin is saying. He's already missed three quarters of it, but he's sure he'll catch enough to figure out the rest.

“But I'm sure you knew all of that, right?” Joaquin says as they stop in front of their apartments. Manolo blinks and realizes the attempt to pay attention had backfired - instead of listening he's been watching the way Joaquin's lips move when he speaks.

“Hmm?” Manolo asks. He can feel Maria's amused gaze on him; he blushes. “Oh! Oh, yeah, of course I did.”

“Thought so.” Joaquin grins arrogantly and claps a large hand on Manolo's back. It's endearing and painful all at once. “Everyone's heard of Joaquin!”

“And if they haven't you're sure to inform them,” Maria adds sweetly, before turning back to Manolo. “By the way, since we're all awake anyway...would you like to come in for a cup of tea?”

"Really?” Manolo's answer comes too quickly, too ecstatically. He clears his throat. “I mean, yeah, that'd be great.”

“Great.” Maria smiles. “We've all been neighbors so long, I figured it's about time we get to know each other.”

Joaquin's arm returns to its place around Manolo's shoulders. “And maybe you can sing for us, yeah?” The words send a mixture of embarrassment and pleasure surging through him.

“Ah. So the walls are as thin as I thought.”

“Not  _that_  thin,” Maria says, winking at Joaquin. Manolo blushes again, though he's not sure why. “But yes, we've heard you singing before. You have a beautiful voice.”

Manolo humbly inclines his head. “Thank you. Music is...my passion.”

“Bet I can change that,” Joaquin says, and Maria elbows him before pulling out her keys and unlocking the door to her apartment.

“Why don't you come on in,” Maria says as she pushes it open, “And tell us more about your music.” For a brief moment Manolo considers refusing – he has work in the morning, after all, and he doubts his father will be happy if he shows up groggy and sleep-deprived. Carlos Sanchez expects only the best from his employees, after all. But Maria's eyes are warm and inviting, and Joaquin's grip on him is firm, his fingers tracing little lines and swirls on Manolo's upper arm. He gets the impression that they've been waiting this opportunity, these two, and considering that he has as well, it would be almost criminal to throw it away. Making up his mind, he grins and nods and allows himself to be led into the apartment directly to the left of his own.

The next morning he's exhausted - they'd talked for hours, the three of them, learning about each other's families and hobbies and histories and more – but he smiles the whole day. His father thinks he's drunk (what other explanation could there be for the way his son is bumping into things, forgetting paperwork and losing supplies?) and says as much. Manolo only laughs. He can't tell his father that he's going on a date this weekend with two (two! Both of them!  _At the same time!_ ) of the most interesting people he's ever met, or that the glee at having an unspoken desire that's been festering inside of him for months finally realized is enough to make him light-headed and dizzy. So he laughs and says he's just tired, there was a fire drill last night, it took him a long time to get back to sleep, etcetera. It's enough for his father, and for the rest of the day he's left alone to daydream, thinking that was one all-nighter that was completely, totally worth it.


End file.
